The Dahlightful Roald Dahl

I will always treasure the glorious collection of stories and books so thoughtfully gifted me by various family members and friends. They are stories I still enjoy as a middle-aged (it hurts to write that) woman today. My partner laughs at my forays back into childhood, churning through pages at an unchildlike pace, or watching a movie based on one of his enchantingly twisted tales.

The language of made-up nonsense words captured the imagination of myself as a child, always creating words for things that we either didn’t know the names for, or new magical imagined items that needed a name. Snozzcumbers are still the best name for any hated vegetable.

His rhymes and nonsensical poems drew hilarity from me as a child in a silly mood and singsong the words from various servings of rhyme stew. It was not just the stories that kept me entertained and my imagination swirling with what I thought these strange and fantastical beasts, people and events would look like. Every child would have seen something a little differently, the colours changed the faces varied.

The heroes in each of the tales are some of the most unlikely, children of uncaring parents, orphans, or the elderly. There are no world-wise spies or sensible adults defending right over wrong. Sophie from The BFG is an insomnia ridden girl, whose critical mistake of being too observant in the depths of the night drew her into the world of giants.

Matilda was a girl I identified with in many ways, different, an outsider and an avid reader. Knowledge becoming such a strength in a character otherwise considered vulnerable and within her own family, mostly forgotten. No-one could forget her nemesis the ferocious Trunchbull, with her imposing stature and reign of terror over child and adult alike.

Our heroes in The Witches were boys subjected to the horror of a magical demonstration, and one wily grandmother who was all too familiar in the ways of the witches. Roald Dahl explored the way in that children experience the world so differently than adults, that rush through time and are not observing their universe as closely as any curious child.

The elderly, now retired or not working at the pace most of us endure throughout our working lives, take the time to dote upon grandchildren, revisiting the world through the senses of the young. While they are more worldly, and have been around a while, they too, often go unnoticed or unheard amongst the deafening tones of the ‘wise, working adult.’

ESIO TROT showed the ingenuity of a love-struck older gentleman, who plans the way into the heart of the woman he fancies, with the same nervousness and fear of rejection felt at any age.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory has been reimagined in movies, with wonderful depictions of the world Roald Dahl had inside his head. When the ultimate reward came to Charlie and by default his family, it was easy to celebrate the victory.

The theme of the vulnerable, or those with less power would persevere over a stronger adversary is universally embraced by people the world over, as we can all identify as being the under dog in some way, at some time. As a child, vulnerability is a given, with a life led by the adults around you, and a reliance on them to ensure all the basic necessities of life, food, shelter, water and love. Or, according to my previous foster child, this also includes the internet and social media. (That was a tough talk).

The villains of these stories were glaringly terrifying. Their dark, bitter souls projected outwards to become part of their physical features. Roald Dahl even referenced this in The Twits, whose mean and nasty ways showed so plainly on their faces. The kind, alternatively, were always beautiful, gentle and caring. He did not make the kind into stand out runway models but genuinely pleasant and approachable. Regular and normal, for all children to aspire to have that inner and outer beauty. Kindness reflected in words and deeds and plainly seen in the eyes of that person. The comparison is easily drawn when reviewing the descriptions of the BFG compared to the other giants.

The Witches kept their evil souls and faces hidden, but of course all was revealed in plain sight of those around them. The entire scheme of those evil witches, ugly inside and out, is a masterpiece. I confess as an adult I would certainly have been collateral damage in the consumption of cut-price (or even if it had of been full price) chocolate. If the foul scheme had been successful, I’d have found myself a squirming, squeaking mouse at the perils of modern life. Having lived through more than one mouse plague, I can attest to the measures us humans will go to in order to be rid of such creatures.

The imposing and unforgiving Trunchbull would send any child into tearful fits of fear. She does of course, also terrify the adults around her. The wicked deeds unleased upon the children of the school subjected to her reign of terror are just believable enough, that they may have, somewhere, happened to a friend of a friend. These close calls, the fiction bordering on the might-have drew me in as a child.

The dealing of the just desserts to the villains in the stories is of course a sweeping blow to all those who think evildoing and villainism is the go-to for a way of life. The witches themselves becoming mice doomed to the traps of the humans they despise, is fitting, while the unfortunate children live out their days in mouse form, but loved.

Both the Trunchbull and Matilda’s gutless and graphically unpleasant family get their comeuppance in the end of that tale, while Matilda gets a new beginning with the sweet and nurturing Miss Honey. The twits succumb to nastiness of their own doings, the only joy in that two equally foul individuals still found each other. The giants are dropped into a deep pit, never to taste the sweetness of human flesh again. They are not killed off (which 100% would have been the outcome in the real world) but live a life of veganism, being fed the dreaded snozzcumbers everyday (and for them that may have been a fate worse than death).

While there were no real villains to battle or overcome in Willy Wonka’s factory, there were definitely those bratty, selfish, greedy and mean children it was easy to dislike. I rejoiced when their horrible behaviour, tolerated by their foolish and doting parents, landed them in hot chocolate (or the juicing room).

I have always had strong sense of justice, wanting to see the kind and good succeed in life, overcome adversity and be an example of achievement for others. Flip the coin and I find no sympathy for those that choose to be criminals, mean or petty to others. I don’t turn a blind eye to someone who would kick a puppy – whatever their reasons.

Perhaps these stories, so reflective of values I now hold dear, helped cement that sense of justice in me. While I am not so naive to think everyone gets caught, or the world is ‘fair’, I do believe that people need to value the good in each other and call out the bad. Karma or comeuppance, whatever is the name for this internal belief, sometimes it happens to people of their own doing (Violet), or sometimes others take the wheel and drive that karma bus (Matilda). I prefer to steer my own good fortune, Sofie and Matilda inspired.